


Love and Other Monsters

by cerulean363



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, Found Family, Jaskier/Geralt - Freeform, M/M, Multi, OT3, Smut, Yennefer/Geralt - Freeform, Yennefer/Jaskier, eventual OT3, jaskier/geralt/yennefer, they all love each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerulean363/pseuds/cerulean363
Summary: Yennefer is on the run from Nilfgaard when she hears about a captured bard. She refuses to call it destiny. A story where they eventually manage to talk about their emotions and find a family and happiness along the way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Love and Other Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> I have only ever seen the show, so readers and gamers please forgive my lack of canon knowledge.

It had been a shit day. 

Yennefer tried in vain to brush off the dirt on her dress, a scowl etched deeply on her face. She merely succeeded in dirtying her hands. Yennefer stared down at her black palms, seemingly silent for a minute. She was sick of this perpetual filth, of worn boots and peasant clothes and tired limbs.

It had taken three weeks to recover from the battle at Sodden Hill. Two more weeks of constant running to discover that Nilfgaard was tracking her magic, determined to capture the sorceress who had burnt nearly an entire army.

Yennefer could do no more than a few simple parlor tricks before Nilfgaardian assassins were at her doorstep. This had lead to Yennefer relying on non-magical methods of traveling, and as if that wasn’t enough of a bitch, she was too recognizable to seek comfort and shelter from nobles, who feared Nilfgaard more than a magicless sorceress.

So she had been traveling for 10 months, staying at shitty inns with shittier lodgings and food, never staying long, constantly running, no friend nor ally left. 

She snarled down at her hands, clenching them into fists, power vibrating, itching to be released, until she took a deep breath and forced the chaos to dissipate, leaving her shaking.

She sighed before walking on, because what else could she do?

It had been a shit year.

  
  
  


Yennefer sipped at the disgusting slog the inn dared call ale, forcing down a shudder. She had been traveling for days before finding this inn. It was far enough on the outskirts of the city, where it was unlikely anyone would recognize her. She planned to stay for two days, hopefully get a chance to bathe, before moving on again.

She had no interest in any of the other residents, determined to keep to herself. She doubted that these peasants could even hold an intelligent conversation anyway.

She was content in her solitude, when suddenly the conversation of a few men sitting at a table nearby caught her attention.

“I hear the Lord is makin’ the bird sing at his own execution”

The man across from the speaker chuckled.

“Well that might just be a performance I’ll have to see.”

“I’d say it’s the best show a bard can give”

Images of narrowed blue eyes and a red doublet flitted across Yennefer’s memory, before she quickly brushed them aside. Bards were as common rats, what was the likelihood it was the one bard she knew?

“Wonder where his Witcher is now? Ha!”

Well shit.

Apparently the likelihood was high.

_ Destiny  _ whispered a voice in the back of her head, which she quickly shoved away.

Fuck destiny, and fuck the bard. Besides, Geralt would surely show up like some cheap knight to save the idiot. It would be best if she wasn’t anywhere nearby when that happened. 

She took another sip, settled with her decision. 

But her treacherous brain kept stirring up images of a man, head down and expression broken, walking alone back down a mountain. 

She hadn’t heard the conversation between the Witcher and the bard, but could only guess the contents by the miserable expression upon the singer.

Yennefer had felt a strange sort of kinship flare up in her chest. That someone else had known what it was to be emotionally fucked over by the Witcher. It didn’t stop her dislike for the annoying and loud bard. But it did gain him a sliver of sympathy. Just a sliver.

That is what she told herself at least, as she slid across Chuckles and his buddy. The two men fell silent at her presence, eyes fixed on her.

She used the opportunity to flutter her eyes at them. Chuckles leered at her, as his friend swallowed.

Her grin turned predatory.

It had been all too easy to get the men to tell her everything, which was admittedly not much. The bard had been giving a performance at the nobleman’s banquet, when he was recognized. Because apparently he was famous or something. 

The very idea made Yennefer want to snort, she had not been impressed by the times they crossed paths, and had often wondered why Geralt put up with the irritating idiot. She paused, well apparently Geralt didn’t put up with him, at least not anymore. 

The bard had then been accused of spying, and was seized and thrown in the dungeon.

This place must really be in need of some entertainment if they thought that man was a spy. I mean really. The bard couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it, let alone keep state secrets.

Yennefer didn’t know when she had decided to save the man. She was just suddenly at the gates of Lord Whatever-the-fucks-name.

She hid in the shadows, using just enough magic to keep her hidden without triggering whatever tabs they had on her powers. Only one guard stood protecting the gate. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief. Before she could have taken out a dozen soldiers in a blink. Now she had to do this the old-fashioned way, patiently, relying on her wits. 

Not for the first time she was wondering why she was even bothering. Who cared what happened to an insignificant bard? She wasn’t one to dole out charity. 

She stood her ground.

The guard was a large, burly man, and Yennefer hoped he was more muscle than sense.

She crept quietly forward, keeping to the shadows. She took out a dagger, hidden among her dress, and placed it ever so so that it couldn’t easily be seen, but was easily accessible.

She paused several feet away from the guard, taking a deep breath, before purposely stumbling forward, falling at the man’s feet.

“Please” she sobbed, curling into herself, making her seem smaller. “Please, help me! You have to help me!” 

Tears ran down her face as she looked up at the guard. He stood, startled by her sudden presence and emotional state. 

“Um-I-” he looked around, eyes panicked, unsure what to do.

“Please you have to help me! He’s after me!” She cried, shaking for good measure.

“Who’s after you girl?” He leaned toward her.

That’s right, just a little closer.

“He’s after me! And- and I think my ankle is broken, see!”

The guard was nearly crouching now, arms waving about helplessly, unsure how to help this beautiful injured woman. 

Idiot.

She took advantage of his lower position, taking her dagger arm and throwing it upward, burying the small blade in his neck, under his chin. He barely had time to register what had happened before she was yanking the blade back, leaving the guard to fall back and splutter, as blood gushed from the wound. He grasped at his neck trying to stop the flow, but it would make no difference. He would be dead within minutes.

Yennefer cleaned the dagger, wiping it on her dress, slow and casual. Men were so easy. Give them a pretty face and a few tears and they were reduced to putty. How they believed themselves to be the superior gender was beyond her.

She searched the guards clothes, ignoring his whimpering and twitching, until her fingers grazed cold metal. Ha! There they are. 

She held the keys up triumphantly. 

“I’ll just be taking these shall I?” She stepped around the body, not even bothering to glance down as the man took his last wet shuddering breaths.

Now to find the dungeons.

She crept along the halls, once again sticking to the shadows, pausing whenever she heard footsteps or movement. It was slow-going, but eventually she made her way downward, steps echoing on stone stairs until she reached a large door. She knew instinctively the dungeon lay behind it. Yennefer took a second to feel surprise about the lack of guard, before shaking it off. Now was not the time to question good luck.

She flipped through the keys, trying each on the door. She found the whole process beyond tedious, and she found herself wishing she could wave a hand and be done with it, before shoving the thought away. Wishes never did any good anyways.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally felt a key give in the door, and heard the welcome click of a door unlocking. She pushed the door open, walking with purpose forward. 

And then suddenly she is yanked backwards against a hard body, an arm trapping her and sharp steel pressing against her neck.

Fuck.

She cursed her own stupidity. How could she let someone sneak up on her? She hoped she wasn’t losing her touch here.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Hot breath whispered against her ear.

Yennefer couldn’t help rolling her eyes, despite her predicament. She was ashamed really, that such an unoriginal brute managed to get the one up on her. 

“Why don’t you let me go, and we can- talk.” she purred.

She could almost feel his lecherous grin, his arm that had trapped her moving down her body slowly, hand exploring. His loosened grip was the opening she was looking for. She slowly grabbed her dagger from its hiding place- and then swung her arm backwards with all her might. 

The guard howled, releasing his hold and curling forward. But Yennefer wasn’t done. She spun with impressive speed, grip still on the blade lodged in, what she was happy to see, was his testicles, and she shoved upward, gutting him from his balls to his chest 

He collapsed, blood and intestines sloshing along the floor.

She stood there breathing heavily, trying to regain her composure. Despite the very dead and unmoving body at her feet, she could still feel phantom hands on her.

She was definitely burning this dress later.

A soft shuffling behind her brings her focus back to her mission. She turns towards the sound, moving along the darkened corridor, glancing in each cell. 

There’s someone in the last cell, slumped against the wall. Yennefer squints through the bars, barely making out a mop of brown hair.

“Bard!” she hisses, trying not to attract anymore unwanted attention.

The form doesn’t move.

“Bard!”

Nothing.

“Bar- Dammit!  _ Jaskier!”  _

Blue eyes snap open, meeting her own.

Yennefer sucks in a breath.

He looks older. Still younger than his age, which had always frustrated Yennefer to no end, but now the lines of his face were a little more pronounced, and the beginnings of a healthy beard shadowed his jaw. But it was still undoubtedly him, Jaskier.

“You!” He gazes at her intently.

“What are you-” He pauses, his eyes suddenly bright with what looks like hope.

“Is Geralt here-” he stops mid sentence when he sees her eyes harden.She shakes her head briefly, and almost regrets it when his entire face falls. And then his eyes shoot back up to meet hers with a confused expression.

“What are you doing here then?”

She huffs. “I’m casting an impotence spell, but it requires the vocal cords of a bard.”

He gapes at her.

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m saving you, moron.”

Jaskier furrows his brow. 

“The spell thing seems more likely.”

She glares at him and seriously considers just leaving him there, but she’s already wasted enough time rescuing his ungrateful ass to leave with nothing. So she ignores him and instead fiddles with the keys, unlocking the cell.

Jaskier scrambles to stand up, still wary as she swings the door open. She merely grabs his wrist and yanks him along. He allows himself to be pulled, nearly slipping as they near the door.

“What the-” Jaskier looks down to see what caused him to slip, nearly gagging at the pool of blood and mangled body.

“Holy hell!” he stares at Yennefer who doesn’t even glance at the mess, just pulls him forward.

“You, woman, are terrifying.” He says, a hint of awe in his voice.

Yennefer grins. She’s almost flattered. Almost. 

They quietly make their way through corridors, Yennefer leading the way. Luckily leaving is a lot easier than breaking in had been, but Yennefer doesn’t breathe easily again until they’ve walked halfway to the next town. 

Jaskier follows closely behind, never uttering a word.

The silence worries Yennefer, who can’t remember ever being in his presence and not wanting to cut out his tongue due to constant prattling. 

But she doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t say anything either, even as they finally reach an inn. It’s a different shithole than the one Yennefer was at before, but even so she has Jaskier bundle up in her cloak, hopefully hiding his appearance enough to fool suspicious eyes. 

She pays for a room and orders a bath. But her stomach protests before she can even think of heading upstairs. She drags Jaskier to a table. They eat quietly, not risking bringing attention to themselves. They don’t speak even as she grabs his arm and drags him upstairs with her, until she is able to close the door and they are finally alone. 

She looks at Jaskier, only to find him looking back. They stare awkwardly at each other, neither knowing what to say. 

Finally Jaskier clears his throat, and is suddenly unable to look Yennefer in the eyes.

“Well-”

Yennefer waits but he doesn’t say anything else. He just frowns at the wall.

She breathes out. She’s tired and covered and grime, and really doesn’t want to deal with whatever this is. She strips out of her dress, cold air biting at her naked skin.

She startles at a choking noise, snapping her head towards Jaskier who is now  _ really _ not looking at her, staring so intently at the wall she’s surprised it doesn’t burst into flame. 

Yennefer smiles at his discomfort. She slides into the bath with a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and reveling in the feeling of warm water soothing her aching body. She stays like that for a time, until the lack of noise becomes too much and she blinks open an eye to look at Jaskier, who still refuses to even glance in her direction.

Well she thinks that’s quite enough of that.

“You’re welcome by the way”

He snaps his head towards her and splutters. 

“I- Well- Pshh- I”

She smiles gloatingly.

“I’ll have you know, that I had that situation completely under control”

“Oh really?” she sneers.

“Yes!” he says unconvincingly.

Yennefer raises an eyebrow and smirks viciously at him.

He answers with a disdainful glare.

Yennefer tries not to think about how this is the most fun she’s had in months.

“How did you even manage to get arrested? Did they tire of your shrill voice and decide to accuse you of espionage?”

Jaskier looks down with a frown, bottom lip slightly out in what reminds Yennefer of a petulant child. 

“Well it would have worked out fine if the Viscount hadn’t been there, that stupid shit-eating dog-”

“Wait, are you saying you were actually there to spy?” Yennefer can’t keep the laughter and disbelief out of her voice as she asks.

Jaskier juts his chin out, and yes it’s definitely like a petulant child, she thinks.

“I’ve been gathering information about Nilfgaard. Banquets and parties are breeding grounds for rumors and information on war and politics, and no one thinks twice about a bard being in hearing distance. They see me merely as a lute and pretty voice, they don’t really see me, and that’s to my advantage.”

And Yennefer- Yennefer can respect that. She knows exactly what it’s like to be underestimated, and has no qualms about taking advantage of that fact.

“But that stupid viscount was at another gathering I played at and somehow the idiot put two and two together.” he mutters bitterly.

Yennefer tilts her head, considering him. 

Jaskier’s not like how she remembers. She had thought him rather dense before, but here is proof otherwise, in fact she could even call him cunning. Or maybe he was always like this but she had been too distracted by Geralt. Jaskier was a pest, a leech on the side of the Witcher that Yennefer had wished to squish between her fingers in an effort to have Geralt to herself without irritating chatter in the background.

Now, studying Jaskier, she thinks she might not have been fair to him.

Jaskier catches her staring and scowls.

“What?”

“Why did you decide to be a spy?” she asks instead.

Jaskier seems thrown by the question.

“Well, there’s a war going on, and I thought I could do some good.”

Yennefer can tell that isn’t the real answer, at least not all of it.

“So what? Running around serenading the public wasn’t enough for you anymore?”

A flash of what looks like sadness flits across his eyes before his face closes off.

“I guess it didn’t have the same appeal as it used to.” he replies quiety.

Yennefer can read between the lines. She knows they’re both dancing around the subject, neither bringing up what they have in common. They aren’t acknowledging  _ him. _

They return to awkward silence, each lost in thought, thinking of the Witcher. 

Yennefer steps out of the bath and dresses in her spare dress. By now the water is cold and not exactly clean, but it should be fine for Jaskier to clean himself. But Jaskier makes no move to bathe. Instead he sits on the bed, staring down at his hands forlornly, still lost in painful memories. 

Yennefer looks at him and feels an uncharacteristic pain of sympathy. 

She sits slowly and gently next to him, but he still startles at her presence. 

“What happened between you two? On the mountain?”

He laughs bitterly at the question, but his glistening eyes betray his broken heart.

“Absolutely nothing. I just finally realized my place, and it wasn’t with him.”

His voice is laced with anger and misery and Yennefer  _ understands. _

“You loved him.”

Jaskier clenches his fists. 

“You still love him.”

He glares at her now, angry tears spilling from his eyes.

“Fuck you. You pretend to hate him but you love him too.” 

She startles at the venom in his voice. But she nods, her own tears wetting her cheeks.

At once his face crumples. And then they’re just sitting next to each other, each releasing silent tears and shaky breaths, simmering in their shared heartbreak.

It’s like finally dealing with an open wound that had been left to fester. Yennefer had closed herself off after the mountain, refusing to be vulnerable to even her own emotions. She should’ve known that she couldn’t ignore that part of her forever.

Yennefer is still shaking silently when she feels a warm hand cup her cheek. 

Jaskier is gazing at her with sad, kind eyes, and she’s shocked with how gentle his touch is.

She doesn’t think anyone has ever been this gentle with her before.

He smiles sadly at her.

“What a pair he has made us.”

She mirror’s his touch, cupping his cheek, gazing intently into his cornflower eyes, looking for something. Jaskier stares back, waiting patiently for her to say something. 

Instead she leans forward.

Jaskier makes a small sound of surprise against her lips, before quickly returning her touch, bringing his other hand to her neck, and kissing her back firmly.

Yennefer parts her lips, pushing into his mouth, fiercely exploring. 

Yennefer knows that this isn’t about them. Really they’re each indulging themselves. Or maybe torturing themselves. Unable to be with Geralt, so each settling for fucking what belongs to him. Feeling as close to him as they can. Pretending.

Then there’s fingers struggling with buttons and clothes being pushed away. They part, gasping, throwing their clothes aside. 

Jaskier pulls Yennefer back to him, running his tongue against her bottom lip, and she shivers before climbing into his lap, pressing her body against his. She’s quick and efficient with her passion, already rocking against him.

He brings his hands to her hips to steady her, but then he’s pulling away. She follows him, relentless, but he stops her. 

She looks at him confused. He smiles softly at her and she doesn’t know what to do with that. Sex for her has always been passionate, intense, hard bodies pressing and pulling, there’s never been a place for soft.

Yennefer is second-guessing this when Jaskier gently lays her down, his body hovering above hers. And yeah, this is definitely not going to work. Yennefer hates the feeling of being caged underneath another person, and is just about to shove him off when he gives her a kiss that can almost be called sweet. 

And then he’s pressing soft open mouthed kisses on her neck, tongue teasing gently at her skin. Yennefer realizes he’s making his way slowly down her body, as he places sweet kisses across her chest, stopping to tease her breasts with his teeth, but never biting down, never hurting her, and he licks any sting away. Before pressing slow deliberate kisses down her sternum and stomach. Yennefer can’t help arching into his touch. His hands glide down her sides, steadying her. And Yennefer is overwhelmed, she’s overstimulated and he moves at a glacial pace, worshipping her skin. And she’s whimpering, making noises she didn’t even know she could make, and she’s just about to tell him to ‘fuck her for gods sake’ when suddenly he’s kissing the inside of her thigh and then - oh!

She’s shaking, on a precipice that she can’t quite fall off. And Jaskier is worshipping her like no one ever has, llicking, kissing, fucking her with only his mouth. And then it’s suddenly not his mouth. Yennefer feels cold for a brief moment before there’s a finger replacing a tongue and it’s curling just right and- 

Lightning exploding out of a bottle. Yennefer cries out, and Jaskier’s holding her now, running fingers through her hair. She turns, violet meeting blue, and for a moment she imagines what they look like with real love gazing out. She wonders how Geralt could stand it. She wonders how he could ever give it up.

And then with a sudden move she pins him down, swinging her leg over him. He gasps with surprise at the suddeness of it all. She smirks down at him, kisses him firmly, and then grabs him, and lowers herself onto him. He throws his head back, closing his eyes as she surrounds him. And she’s rocking, slowly first, then speeding up, fingers scratching down his chest, then his scalp. 

Jaskier makes all kinds of beautiful noises, just as loud and talkative as he is usually. But then he finishes with a loud shout and they’re laying curled against each other, just panting. And Yennefer feels her eyes drooping, and she falls asleep to a quiet humming in the background.

They stay there for a week and a half. They spend a good portion falling into bed together, but a surprisingly large amount of time just talking. There are days when they refuse to mention Geralt, and some days where they spend the whole day laughing about how he talks to his horse. Yennefer finds herself talking about her desire for a baby, for a family. An emotion passes through Jaskier’s expression that she can’t quite place, but it’s gone quickly, replaced with his arms around her. They still trade barbs back and forth, but there’s less and less malice behind the words.

Jaskier strums on his lute, singing half-formed songs. Yennefer threatened to curse him, Nilfgaard assassins be damned, if he kept it up. Jaskier ignored her and Yennerfer couldn’t find it in herself to be that upset about it. 

It’s the night before they’re to part, as they lay next to each other, that Jaksier picks up his lute and sings the finished song.

He sings of violet eyes, of power and magic, of love and belonging.

She falls asleep with tear-stained cheeks and the gift of a soft melody sung by a bard who can see her.

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt and Ciri in next chapter!


End file.
